


Schrödinger’s Nice Guy

by lalazee



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Edward Elric Keeps Automail, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: While Roy had never believed in the kindness or veracity of fate, he believed in his instincts. And Edward Elric set every single one on red alert.(The Stripper AU that wasn't. Ed only bartends there. I know, we're all feeling the loss, here.)
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 50
Kudos: 303





	Schrödinger’s Nice Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Rated Explicit for the LATER chapters. This will only be three to four parts. I hope you enjoy!

No one with half a brain went to a strip club on a Saturday.

Every stool, high table or couch lurking in the offset shadows was packed with bros upon bros, plus the occasional bro dragging his girlfriend along. Those in possession of more than fifty percent of aforementioned brain – businessmen, mellow guys coming out for a drink, and lesbians – knew well enough to come midweek, when Central University students weren’t running rampant and threatening to throw up somewhere. 

And yet, here Roy was, inevitably thrust through the crush of the crowd as he skirted toward the bar at the farthest possible end of the club. Maes, Fury, and Jean had immediately jumped into the sweaty fray of desperation and hormones in search of Jean’s flavor of the month, a girl who danced here under the name Ruby. Jean had all but begged them to come along and meet her, and by 'meet her', he apparently meant: watch her take her clothes off for them.

Which, fine, wonderful. Roy of all people certainly had no problem with it, but that didn’t negate the surreal experience of meeting someone for the first time while their glittering nipple tassels shimmered every time she laughed. He’d be the first to admit he breathed a sigh of relief when Maes asked him to brave the masses for beer.

“You look like you could use some fun,” a sweet voice sounded in Roy’s ear as he found a stool at the bar. Roy turned in his seat, back bracing against the bar as he smiled at a petite redhead in black lingerie. 

“I’m rarely one to say no to fun,” Roy said amiably, even if he already knew he wasn’t going to take her up on any offers.

“How about a dance?” Painted black lips curved, a hand on his thigh. She smelled like makeup and hairspray and cherry lip gloss. “Somewhere private.”

“What’ll you have?” a husky voice carried above the din of sultry, bass-driven electronic music thumping against Roy’s back.

“Double whiskey rocks and your least expensive IPA that tastes like the inside of a sneaker,” Roy said, looking away from the distracting woman to the bartender.

Face neutral, he blinked. Blinked again.

“Oh,” he said, softly, moments before the object of his mute shock turned on his heel, a long, thick tail of gold hair flicking over his shoulder with the sharp, economical movement. “Hello.” 

Of course, the guy hadn’t heard him.

 _Eyes_ , had been Roy’s first encompassing thought. Eyes bright and large, some kind of feline hazel that soaked up the dim, shitty bar lighting and refracted it back in gold. 

Then came _face_ , because clearly this person had reverted Roy back to the barest basics of English comprehension. Mouth set in a natural frown, a face accustomed to frowning, stubborn chin and a wide jaw to encompass strong cheekbones and nose. Beautiful and fierce like a some kind of gold on gold Viking, only –

Roy cocked his head, corners of his lips curved as the bartender approached with two drinks.

A Viking, only shorter. Surprisingly short, actually.

“Thank you.” Roy didn’t look at his drinks, instead rooting for his wallet and maintaining a purposeful, lingering eye contact with the man behind the counter. Those appealing eyes, just shy of pretty when they looked both bored and pissed off in tandem, stared back without much expression.

“Twelve fifty,” the guy said flatly, hands on his slim hips. 

Roy’s attention briefly flicked to one hand, fitted with a thin, black leather glove, the knuckles worn and starting to fray. A dress shirt of bold brick red cuffed his wrists and rode up to where the top two buttons of the collar were parted and loose, exposing tan and more tan. 

“Twelve fifty?” Roy said, mentally shaking himself from the peek of collarbone to find a full-on scowl aimed at him.

“Yeah, buddy. You got a problem with the price, don’t take it up with me. Your choice to be here. I’m grabbin’ these dudes and when I come back, either open a tab or pay.”

“No, I-” Open-mouthed, Roy watched him go, and while that wasn’t necessarily a pain because, _who the hell wore sinful leather pants like that_ , the last place Roy had expected to find himself speechless over a knock-out blonde bombshell was not… the _bartender_ at the strip club.

Glancing between the disgusting IPA Maes had requested, then to the bartender who accepted an offered shot from the group of college students, knocking it back without so much as a grimace, an executive decision was made.

Roy pulled out his debit card and prepared to forgo a significant amount of his weekly food budget in favor of, well, he wasn’t yet entirely certain. But he understood himself enough to know that he at least needed a name. A phone number, preferably. A sexual orientation would be beneficial, too, but Roy would work with simply getting a smile out of this one. 

The bartender had returned, a dusky brow flicked high, leather-gloved hand on a cocked hip.

“Are you -”

“A tab, please.” Roy offered a smile as he held out his card. His fingers brushed the stranger’s, and his delight only grew when the guy heaved a sigh and snatched the card away, proceeding to frown down at it.

“This your real name?”

“Last time I forged my identity, yes.”

Now both brows climbed to his hairline as he looked up, the expression flattening as he shrugged.

“Sounds like a stripper name.”

“A likely profession my mother had in mind for my future, I’m sure. And you?” 

The guy frowned and yes, he was a natural with that.

“And me what?”

“May I know _your_ name?” Roy said, folding his arms on the sticky bar and leaning in, mouth curved. “At the very least, your stripper name since you caught mine.”

“I’ve never had a pet,” said the bartender, turning to slip the card in a side pocket attached to the register.

“Excuse me?”

Another sigh, followed by a meaningful look to Roy, like he was slow on the uptake. Nobody looked at Roy Mustang like he was _slow_.

“Stripper name. Isn’t it supposed to be the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on?”

Baffled and delighted in equal turns, Roy lost his chance to reply when a gaggle of college girls crowded the opposite side of the bar and called wildly for service. Content to bide his time, Roy settled onto his stool for the long haul, sipping his whiskey and watching.

Despite that husky voice just edging on gruff and the penchant for frowns, the blonde bombshell himself handled a crowd well. A wave of people seemed to arrive at once and he appeared to take it all in stride, his ungloved hand doing the majority of the pouring, while the other flicked off a guy who tried to edge in before his turn to order. Nothing stuttered his pace or his focus.

At one point, he’d briefly looked Roy right in the eye, gaze narrowing, head cocked in a silent question, before turning away to finish an order. 

A bright, sharp ping sounded at the back of Roy’s head, like a bell going off. He recognized the sharp hook of curiosity when he saw it. He himself was regularly and unquenchably thirsty for answers, as well. 

“Hey.” A renewed drink slipped before him, amber liquid not nearly the right color to match the gaze that met Roy’s from across the bar. “Naked ladies are that way, buddy.”

“Roy, I insist.”

The guy rolled his eyes. 

“Roy. You waitin’ for somebody or something? No one ever just _sits_ at the bar. Not this one, anyway. You drink, you secure cash precariously in g-strings, you go home to your girlfriend who isn’t wearing a g-string, and contemplate your life before you pass out and wait for the weekend all over again. Simple shit.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Roy said, battling a wide, too-telling smile of utter enchantment. What a fascinating person to meet in a place like this. “And I’m waiting for your name, of course.”

The bartender screwed up his face and barked a short, coarse laugh.

“What?”

“Pure curiosity is all,” Roy said, splaying his fingers out before him in innocence before he folded them beneath his chin and leaned forward. “One of my friends is dating one of the ladies here and insisted on taking all of us out to… support her?” At the blonde’s snort of genuine humor, Roy added, “And while I do pride myself on being a supportive friend on an exemplary level and all around helpful person –“

“You seem like a pain in the ass and I don’t even know you.”

“ _Helpful_ person,” Roy continued, his smile mild, “this isn’t necessarily my Saturday outing of choice.”

“By the way you talk I’d say you’d rather be at a book club smoking a cigar,” the bartender said, that sharp, gilded gaze catching on a customer and skirting away once more. 

“Roy!”

Roy idly turned on his stool as he watched Maes approach, already laughing and flushed.

“Where have you been? You left for my beer and fell into a black hole.”

“Less fall into one, more sucked in and yes, I’ve been distracted with said anomaly.”

“What? What’re you –“ Maes peeked around Roy’s shoulder and Roy didn’t have to turn to the bar to know when the realization kicked in. Mae’s beamed, a merry laugh bubbling out as he smacked Roy’s shoulder too many times and nipped his beer off the counter. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, man. There are times and places for these things, you know.”

“Time slows in a black hole,” Roy said. “And we have all night.”

“After all of these years, you still manage to amaze me.”

“And your continued underestimation of my determination a- _Maes_ -es me.”

Maes, who had been taking a sip from his sweating beer bottle, sputtered it out in a spray of laughter, wiping at his face with his hands. 

“Awful! Awful. Shit, okay, I’m heading back. Are you sure you wanna stay here?”

“At the very least, I’m going to wait until I get this name.”

“A name?” Maes grinned and peered past Roy’s shoulder. “Hey, bartender! I wanna make sure my tips go to you for the night. What’s your name?”

“Ed.” The voice was so close that Roy whipped around too fast than was strictly smooth or cool, only to find _Ed_ , this is Ed, with arms folded across his chest, shoulders set, and a faint curve to one corner of his deliciously wide mouth.

“Fred?” Maes yelled over the music.

“ _Ed_ ,” Roy and Ed said in tandem, eyes holding.

“Okay, well, take care of my best friend, Ed. He’s an attention hog and requires a regular amount of grooming and validation.”

“That ain’t my business,” Ed said, but the quirk to his lips had brightened. 

Roy was sure Maes said a goodbye, but he wasn’t about to look away any time soon. He was resigned to the impending amount of time his ass would have to suffer this stool just to know Ed in detail. 

“So, _Ed_.” Roy brought his second whiskey to his lips, savored the burn in the same way he drank in the line of Ed’s exposed throat and the point blank, barrel-of-a-gun way Ed had of staring at him. “Is that short for anything?”

“Yeah,” Ed said, then turned to grab a towel and began to wipe down the counter length to Roy’s side and down the line. As Ed had predicted, no one lingered at the bar. Everyone was doing the grab-and-go deal – alcohol, then off to better things. “Roy short for anything? Royal Pain in My Ass?”

“I feel like your tips must exclusively derive from your unerring wit and charm,” Roy said, smiling into his glass with a longer drink. 

“Unerring Wit and Charm was my mom’s second choice, but she settled with Ed because she didn’t want people intimidated right off the bat.”

“I think you have that covered in spades, all the same.”

Another roll of eyes before Ed turned, that distractingly long fall of hair swishing between his bright red shoulder blades when he shifted to handle new customers. 

Ed was a powerhouse. Roy had noticed that electric current running through his movements, but the lightning came right through the eyes, like volts just waiting for a touch or word to set them sparking.

Roy had always been particularly poor in keeping his hands to himself. 

“Do you live here in Central City?” Roy asked when Ed finally came his way again, a watchful, wary look in his eye. 

“Yeah,” Ed said, again the one word answers. Not unhelpful, but not helpful either. 

Roy smoothed out a smile and tipped his cheek upon his palm, elbow on the bar. 

“I’m not going to stalk you, Ed. I’m just making conversation. That tends to be the inherent purpose for which we regular establishments like this.”

Ed buzzed his lips in a raspberry that should be obnoxious but was instead utterly perfect in its candid, sincere state. 

“Sure, okay, buddy. Whatever you say. Maybe for other places, but not strip joints. You do realize you’re facing the wrong way, right? Or are you the bullshit noble kind who thinks he’s too good for this stuff? Those are good women out there, making a living off the male gaze like bosses, so don’t think _you’re_ using _them_ , when it’s them choosing to work the system you assholes set up in the first place.”

“I don’t disagree in the least,” Roy said, thumbing the glass rim of his drink and meeting those tiger eyes head on. “But I assure you I’m facing the direction I choose. It might not always be the direction everyone else is looking in, but I’m rather fond of the personal compass I’ve crafted over the years.”

Ed stared at him for a moment before bursting into a laugh; a true husky, full punch of fresh air in the stagnant, sticky club of sliding bodies and pulsing desire.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Mustang?”

“I’ve never heard that in my life,” Roy said with a straight face. 

“Damn, and a good liar, too,” Ed said, slapping both palms on the counter, his shoulders riding up to his ears as he leaned in with a feral grin. “What’s your angle here? I saw you makin’ eyes at that chick when you first got here. I ain’t buying this shit. You got gaydar or something? Congrats, you got me. Big surprise these places want their employees swinging the wrong way from the girls, but you’re not like that, are you? So what’s your angle, Royal Pain.”

Apparently, it was Roy’s turn to blink in silence as he sifted through the onslaught of one very clever mouth and an even more cunning brain.

“I think we started off on the wrong foot,” Roy said, his voice purposely soft enough in the loud setting that he had the pleasure of watching Ed tilt closer, hungry for the way Ed’s pupils’ swelled and his lips parted in question. 

“Hello, Ed. My name is Roy Mustang and find you absolutely fascinating. Yes, I know where I am – no, I’m not facing the wrong way, and while I admit I’m in not _exclusively_ gay, or even mostly gay, there are people like you who make me stop and remember that sexuality is a social construct, and I absolutely abhor constructs. So –“ Roy cocked his head, a slow, easy smile playing at his lips. “I am honestly delighted to make your acquaintance. Almost as equally delighted to hear that you’re not straight either, I might add.”

Ed’s face flared up in flame, expression floundering between consternation and exasperation before he sharply looked over, noted a customer, and pushed off the counter like it was hot lava.

Roy hadn’t realized how tense his muscles had bunched until he exhaled, long and emptying, focusing the ease back into his frame. 

“Oh boy,” Roy murmured to himself, drinking deep from his whiskey down to empty. 

Roy had thought frowning, fierce Ed had been striking. Snarky, quick Ed, seemingly in his element of conversation had been absorbing. Blushing, speechless Ed mustering what would have undoubtedly been a cutting reply in defense had been even more captivating. Roy realized he wanted to see those expressions more often, and all of the rest. 

A crack of a third presented drink inwardly startled Roy from his reverie and he looked up, inhaling sharply when he found himself pinned by a fierce stare.

“Hi,” Ed croaked, his voice a mere rasp, his lips pressed together tightly, like he wasn’t sure of his own mouth, the rise of his strong cheekbones flushed. “I’m Edward. Uh, Elric? Not apologizing for jumping down your throat, ‘cause you get a lot of assholes in places like this and you wouldn’t be the first to – well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what your angle is, but I don’t think you’re a murderer or some shit, and if you were, I’m good with putting you in your place if I gotta. So, um, anyway.”

Ed grimaced and shrugged.

“This one’s on me or whatever.”

Amazed and, yes, charmed beyond belief by Ed’s demeanor, Roy smiled beatifically and lifted his glass in cheers.

“Why thank you, Edward. I do believe I’ll drink to that.”

“Do you always talk like this?” Ed said, expression delightfully suspicious.

Roy moved a shoulder in a half shrug and carefully set down the tumbler, his cheeks pleasantly aching from the smiles he couldn’t seem to repress as easily as usual. 

“I suppose I do.”

“You sound like one of those guys who said _m’lady_ to girls in high school in between Dungeons and Dragons night in your mom’s basement.”

“I’ll have you know that line worked on all the right ladies,” Roy said, pointedly not smiling, which instantly brought one to Ed’s face. “And Dungeons and Dragons breeds creativity and expands detailed thought process. Everyone should do it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t play,” Ed said, grinning now as he flipped a towel over his shoulder. “How d’you think I know what your type is like?”

“I prefer to think I defy a set type.”

Ed snorted, an unimpressed eye roll.

“You would. Hold on.”

A fresh wave of patrons flooded the bar from all directions as three dancers appeared to finish at once and stepped down from their prominent, round stage, dead center of the club. Ed took the work in stride, that hardened expression of concentration dampening the electricity and power of his personality, focusing it all into deft movements of hand and, from what Roy started to realize, the ability to calculate everyone’s bills on the spot – even the bachelor party’s rowdy order of thirteen. 

Roy hadn’t noticed it until now, but Ed didn’t even glance at the register when he punched the numbers in. He already knew before the calculator did it for him. And while that wasn’t the most difficult math for someone to do, it wasn’t the easiest, and certainly not under this level of stress. 

Roy’s curiosity whetted further. A student like him, perhaps? Undoubtedly younger, though. But over twenty-one to be working here, and that was something. 

Licking at his suddenly dry lips, Roy brought his third double whiskey on the rocks to his mouth and found the glass empty. Blinking, he slowly slid the glass away with one fingertip, watching the tumbler refract light in on itself beautifully, then recognizing the subtle wander and waver of his thoughts now that the alcohol had melted and soothed his sharp, vigilant edges.

“Another?” Ed said after he’d discarded empties, dumped glasses in the sink, and pocketed his tips.

“You’re good at math,” Roy said, the clever bastard that he was. _Try again, Roy._

“Yeah,” Ed said, which was his apparent go-to with anything even remotely personal. Roy didn’t hold it against him, but he wanted to know. There was just something _about_ him. “I go to Central U for it – or, er, related stuff.”

Roy smiled, outright no-holds-barred, smiled up at Ed like he lit the sky for him with this tiny admittance of intimate information. 

“So do I. May I ask what you’re studying?”

Ed frowned at him.

“I’m all over the place. Double major, biochem and physics. You’re really a student? Aren’t you, like, thirty?”

Roy gawked, unconsciously swiping both hands through his hair to resettle the style.

“What, _no_. Thirty? Do I really look thirty?”

Hands on his hips, Ed cocked his head to an extreme degree, a golden-eyed owl inspecting him intently.

“I mean, I figured you were one of those good-looking assholes who don’t age. Asian and all.”

“So you assumed that _I_ , a seemingly thirty year-old man lurking at a bar in a female strip club, would decide to hit on _you_ , who can only be twenty-one by deduction because you’re running the bar here?”

“I don’t look _twenty-one_ ” Ed snapped, “Who the fuck're you callin’ a babyface?”

“There’s nothing baby about you,” Roy said blandly. “And, for the sake of clarity, I’m twenty-six and finishing my Masters in Political Science, thank you very much.”

Ed looked like someone had just force-fed him a gallon of pure lemon juice.

“You’re poli-sci? Holy _fuck_ , that explains so much. Please don’t tell me you’re going to be an attorney or something.”

Roy’s eyebrow slowly climbed to his hairline.

“I’ll make sure not to tell you, then. But I must admit that I’m rather averse to holding back information in this relationship.”

Ed sputtered, looking around like he required backup for this conversation. 

Roy smiled. Ed glared.

“You said you hate social constructs but you’re gonna spend your life weaseling the system? Wait, nevermind, I answered my own fucking conundrum. Man, you are something. Where the hell did you come from?”

“Metaphorically, geographically, or ancestrally?”

“Now _I_ need a drink,” Ed said, scraping his gloved hand down his face. A glint of silver caught the dull lighting where the red shirt edged past his wrist and Roy kept his face neutral as he carefully inspected the sliver before it disappeared. “You’re more exhausting than all these assholes put together.”

“Why, thank you.”

Ed laughed, seemingly despite himself as his shoulders and frame sagged into it, shaking his head as he turned to address a new set of customers. Roy pursed his lips, eyeing the arm from where the gloved hand began. He had thoughts, but it was too soon to tell. 

Riding the lulling wave of whiskey and the intoxicating way Ed’s smile and pretty mouth pulled a deep, syrupy arrow toward his belt buckle, Roy found himself helplessly honest when Ed directed a question toward him at the next free minute.

“You’re not really hitting on me, are you?”

Ed looked dubious.

Roy was fairly certain he looked the same, too. After the last hour – or had it been more? Definitely more, between the customers and Ed cleaning up and the errant conversation. 

“I did tell you,” Roy said carefully, “that I’m not facing the wrong way.”

For the second time tonight, Roy experienced the abrupt, swelling delight of seeing Ed’s face fire up red. 

“I – I, well, I mean. You just sound so full’a shit I wasn’t sure if this was just a thing you do anywhere or –”

“Would you be comfortable with giving me your phone number?” Roy said in a rush of breath, eking out a smile that, to his horror, might even be a bit shy. 

Ed blinked, hands stilling where he’d been replacing a pour top on a new bottle of Jameson. 

“Uh. No.”

“That’s fair. Can I ask again later?”

“Yeah,” Ed said, swallowing hard enough that Roy could watch the shift of his throat. “You – if you want. Your funeral.”

Roy smiled, both confidence and whiskey shining through.

“I promise the second time will be the last time. You might warm up to me by then.”

“God, you’re obnoxious,” Ed said, patting at his back pockets, as if wearing pants like that left _any_ room for something to hide. “Now where did I...”

As Ed moved around, Roy noted the armpit the ungloved arm was slightly damp with a long night of hard work, while the other remained clean. He sucked on his teeth in a moment’s thought, then dragged his attention away. 

“Pen and napkin for that number?”

“Now you’re getting sleazy,” Ed said with a short, true laugh.

Affronted, Roy pressed a hand to his chest.

“Sleazy? That’s worse than thirty.”

“Ha-ha,” Ed said flatly, placing hands on the counter to lean in with a grin. “Is this some kind of dare?”

“Only a dare to myself insomuch as the bizarre nature of this meeting and my resulting actions,” Roy found himself saying, honest as anything for once.

Ed’s gaze narrowed. 

“So, an attorney. Really?”

“It’s a step toward a higher goal,” Roy said with a shrug implied in his tone. “I'm aimed toward politics, elected officials. My minor is foreign affairs, but I started off with criminal psych before I evacuated that.”

“Why?” Ed asked, and damn it all if he didn’t look like he was paying attention, like he cared.

Roy gestured vaguely with his hand, looking for a happy medium of truth and avoidance. 

“Not enough leverage in the world as a cop, I suppose,” Roy said. “I’d considered FBI –“

“Sorry to break it to you, but you don’t blend into a crowd.”

“Thank you,” Roy said with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “But anyway. In the end, I have further sweeping goals.”

Ed snorted and poured two shots, sliding one across.

“Yeah, right. What, president?”

With a small, enigmatic smile, Roy lifted the shot glass and clinked it to Ed’s. By the time he’d finished, Ed had finished gawking and scrambled to catch up.

“Ugh, I drank that wrong,” Ed said, shaking himself off like a dog. 

His mannerisms had loosened and Roy hoped it was from the mutual camaraderie and strange, inherent normalcy he somehow sensed between the two of them. Roy was reminded of his entire school career in which he’d been forced to share a book with a schoolmate, which always ended in waiting minutes and minutes for the other to finish the reading before he could finally turn the page for them. Ed turned the pages like him. Perhaps even faster.

“Roy!” Hearing his name shouted over the slinky, sexy bass line, Roy looked over his shoulder to watch Maes weave through the thinning crowd with a grin. Maes draped an arm over Roy’s shoulder to talk directly into his ear. He smelled like how old sock IPA tasted and Roy was glad for Fury’s perpetual designated driver services. “Still haven’t moved, huh? Any luck?”

Roy considered the way Ed leaned over the bar at the other end, his strong, beautiful profile on emotional lockdown as he got in a sloppy drunk’s face and told him he was cut off. From this angle, Roy could see that Ed’s calf-high, subtly platformed combat boots were on their tip toes in order for him to size up with the guy opposite the counter.

Roy’s entire body ached, right down to the sore center behind his ribs.

“More than lucky,” Roy murmured, probably not loud enough for Maes to hear.

“Well, we’re heading out now. Put your final moves on before it’s too late.”

“Leaving?” Roy frowned at Maes, then at his watch, which signaled well past one in the morning. “It’s early.”

Maes barked a laugh in his ear and smacked him on the back with great jovial slaps.

“This from the guy who’s tucked in beneath his quilt and top sheet before ten with reading glasses and a novel. Only my grandma uses a top sheet.”

“They’re cool and crisp and feel so nice on my skin,” Roy said with a frown.

Maes blinked, his glasses smeared and fingerprinted from a long night. His smile was wide and slow and knowing.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Roy scoffed.

“Please. I have a better constitution than that.”

“Uh huh. Tipsy, then. How many drinks do you think it’ll take to get a phone number?”

Roy watched Ed dump a batch of empties in a bin and wipe off his gloved hand on the rag he kept tucked in his back pocket. He looked up, eyes searching out Roy’s until he met them, only to look away with a face gone up in flame before he promptly turned his entire body away and addressed a new customer. 

“I don’t know,” Roy said, mostly to himself. “I think I’ll have to give him mine and hope for the best.”

“Leaving it up to fate?” Maes ruffled Roy’s hair, delighting when Roy hissed under his breath and set it to rights with expert swipes of palm. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Yes, well.”

Roy linked his fingers and rested his chin upon them as he admired the inherent scowl on Ed’s face. He wondered how Ed looked in the sun, in his element rather than caged in this world of fake fog and thundering sound. Wondered what made him smile or laugh or feel inspired. 

A hand waved in front of his face.

“Earth to Roy? I said we’re leaving. Pay your bill.”

“You can go without me,” Roy said, lips quirking as Ed peered over his shoulder, gilded cat eyes going huge before he quickly looked away when their eyes locked. “I’ll Uber.”

“Okay, now I _really_ don’t know who you’ve become,” Maes said, humor light in his voice as he hefted away from Roy’s shoulder support. “But if you’re intent on seeing this one through, then at least text me when you get home. Let me know the golden boy hasn’t locked you in his basement and is planning on wearing your skin.”

“You really need to get out of intelligence,” Roy said, waving him off. “You’ll sleep a lot better at night.”

“Almost as well as you,” Maes said, and they both know that meant hardly at all. 

“You could have said hello,” Roy said as Maes disappeared into the crowd and Ed approached in a way that reminded Roy of himself before he’d developed tried and true ways to be noticed and welcomed into peoples’ confidence. “He doesn’t bite, unless it’s like puppy play bites. He might do something like that.”

“Why would I say hello?” Ed said, face bunched up in confusion. “Whatever. You want your check now?”

“I’ll stay,” Roy said, lips curved as he gazed warmly at Ed’s increasing stink-face. “Last call is at one-thirty, isn’t it? Not long now.”

For a moment, Ed didn’t speak. His ungloved hand, nails blunt and neatly cut, drummed on the bar he leaned on as he stared long and hard at Roy.

“Yes?” Roy said, fluidly moving a hand to encourage Ed’s mouth to move. 

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re a nice guy or just a stalker with acting skills. Like Ted Bundy or whatever.”

“I happen to be a nice guy _with_ acting skills, if that makes your decision any easier.”

Ed raised a brow.

“Shitty guys always say they’re nice guys. Nice guys don’t have to say it.”

“Schrödinger’s Nice Guy,” Roy said. “I suppose you won’t know until you open the box.”

“And by then it’s too late,” Ed said, expression knowing. 

“I promise you,” Roy said, folding his hands atop the bar and leaning in, peering up to meet Ed’s eyes as he loomed, “that it was never my intention to come to a strip club and only look at you. I’m as surprised as you are.”

From the popped buttons to a golden hairline that shows no signs of hair dye or fake coloring, Ed blushed, fiery and wide-eyed.

“Why are -” Ed shook his head, licked his lips, eyes flicking away then back. “What makes you think I’m even interested in a dude that comes to strip clubs to pick up other dudes?”

The corners of Roy’s lips quirked as he cocked his head, held Ed’s captivating eyes. 

“Because why on earth would a man come to an all-female strip club and end up sitting here with you all night? Isn’t that bizarre enough to _have_ to be true?”

While the heat cooled off from Ed’s face, his eyes still shadowed with doubt. Roy thought that was entirely fair, considering he himself was attempting to take this in stride while still caught off guard by just who this person was and why he’d jolted Roy through so instant and hot and intense from the get go. Like getting struck by lightning.

While Roy had never believed in the kindness or veracity of fate, he believed in his instincts. And Edward Elric set every single one on red alert.

“Your friends are leaving,” Ed said flatly, instead of addressing Roy’s point, his eyes scanning above Roy’s head to undoubtedly follow their path. “Better pay fast.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay.” Roy smiled easily when Ed flashed a heated look his way. His rampant, shifting expressions were an absolute joy to witness. Roy wanted to see all of them. “Unless I’m making you uncomfortable. Then I’d much rather leave.”

“Who says I’m uncomfortable?” Ed snapped, stomping away despite the bar being entirely empty but for the two of them. He looked over his shoulder and hollered, “Smarmy creeps like you are a dime a dozen, buddy! I’m fine, _I’m fine_.”

“You most certainly are,” Roy said, smile widening as Ed went red again and moved to clear more empties. 

A fresh wave of patrons arrived at the bar for Irish Car Bombs that made Roy want to lay down just watching them drink. Ed kept busy with work and Roy kept busy watching Ed keep busy. The arrangement was mutually beneficial in that Ed seemed more than happy to ignore Roy right now, and Roy was absolutely thrilled to get to know the way Ed’s body moved – he had a notable limp, when one was looking for it – and his ungloved hand was much faster than the other, the black leather almost undoubtedly covering some kind of automail, if the flash of dulled silver here and there was anything to go off. 

Ed rarely smiled at anyone, and if he did, it was a tight, short thing that came and went. He didn’t linger with anyone unless they spoke to him first, and while his expressions did soften for the errant woman who approached, he was all quick, efficient business with a hint of clumsiness that only warmed Roy’s chest further.

“Last call,” Ed said, voice rising clear and bright above the din. The crowds had begun to thin out some, and Ed sent off some final drink orders before the last patrons made their way to the other bar closer to the poles and stages. 

All except for Roy, who was doing his utmost to tamp down the adoration with which he gazed at Ed’s stomping approach.

“Alright, buddy –“

“Roy.”

“Mustang,” Ed said with a pointed look. “Fun’s over. Go home.”

Thanks to one or two many whiskeys, the realization snuck up on Roy that he hadn’t thought this far into the future of their night. Now that all was said and done, he was down an abnormal amount of money – for him, anyway, as he didn’t much enjoy flagrantly spending – had ditched his ride home, and hadn’t even managed to give this golden Viking warrior god his phone number.

As if Ed would even call him. He was probably awash with adoration back at Central U, almost certainly in the physics department, where people rarely looked even remotely like _him_.

“Of course,” was all Roy said, eyes searching Ed’s for something more than dismissal. The color was still high on Ed’s cheeks bones, one of his hands fisted at his side. Annoyance or internal struggle? Roy couldn’t entirely read him. “If it would be – I – _hm_.”

“Whiskey’s fucked you up more than you expected, huh?” Ed grinned easy now, waving him off. “You don’t seem like the time to get tongue tied.”

“I’m not.” Running his tongue along his teeth, Roy thought hard on this stranger’s uncanny ability to make him stumble. It wasn’t just because of his face, either. The power that radiated from his personality, from his lightning eyes, was formidable and smart and sharp. “I’m – may I give you my phone number?”

Ed, who’d turned away to replace alcohol bottles in their rightful place, whipped around, two garish bottles of neon blue and green liquor in each hand. 

“What, no! I mean –“ he sputtered, red rising up his gorgeous throat. “What – _why_? What’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?” Puzzled and faintly frowning, Roy watched Ed fumble with the bottles, turning away once more with a stiff back and an absolutely sinful shoulder to nipped waist ratio that would have had a lesser man’s eye’s lingering too long. 

Apparently, Roy was the lesser man tonight.

“What the fuck you wanna give me your number for?” Ed asked without facing him, his hands busy with shot glasses or something back there.

“Because you’re –” _otherworldly beautiful and I don’t pass up chances with deities_ “-fascinating and clever and I feel as if you wouldn’t hesitate to cut a man off at the knees if it was your will.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Ed snapped, whirling on him with a red face and a lion’s predatory eyes. He gripped the edge of the counter and loomed in, face too close but not close enough for Roy to yet catch the way he smelled or might taste. “Instead of fucking around with some loser bartender? Don’t you have future politicians to bump dirties with to ensure your future success or something?”

Roy’s eyes narrowed, voice cool as he leaned in just enough to keep his timber law and calm.

“I don’t do that.”

Ed seemed to freeze in place, gaze caught up in Roy’s as his soft, wide mouth seemed to move without sound. He licked his lips, attention flicking down just once, but that was enough to relax Roy, to assure him he wasn’t entirely alone in this.

“Sorry,” Ed croaked, voice burnt out as he pushed off the bar and ran a bare hand through his hair, grimacing when it became tangled in the loosened, heavy ponytail that no longer sat high, but slouched from the weight of all that gold. “Sorry, I just. I don’t get what the fuck you’re lookin’ for.”

“I wasn’t looking for anything,” Roy said, melting into a subtle smile. “But I found you.”

Ed stared at him for a beat before bursting into a rich, bright laugh.

“Alright, Mustang. Sure. You’re weird as hell, you know that?”

“I’ve been told in less pointed words, yes,” Roy said, his grin unrestrained as he pillowed a cheek upon his palm and admired Ed. “Would that be enough incentive for you to accept my number?”

Ed’s smile disappeared and it was the biggest shame of the night. 

“Sure, I mean. If you want. I don’t know why you would want, but okay. Not sayin’ I’m gonna text you or whatever.”

“Just knowing you have it would be enough.” Roy patted down his pockets, realized he didn’t have his tired and true backpack of utter preparedness with him, of course. “Might you have a pen?”

Ed gave him a curious look, his expressive mouth quirked.

“Yeah, I might.”

Moments later, Ed was tucking a flimsy napkin with Roy’s scrawl on it into the snug leather of his back pocket, and Roy wouldn’t be an honest man if he didn’t admit at least to himself that he’d give anything to get into those pockets, too. But the phone number would do. 

“Alright,” Ed said with a sigh, arms stretching above his head, the small of his back arching, lithe and feline. The brick red dress shirt had untucked at the hip, a peak of skin reminding Roy just how pathetic he probably definitely looked mooning over some bartender who had nothing but a passing amusement in him. “I’m done for the night. You’d better head out, too, unless you plan on finding some other unsuspecting bartender to harass. I’ll tell you right now that Scar will make me look like a pussycat.”

“I doubt that,” Roy said to himself as he stood, wincing as he cricked his spine back in line from hours of slouching at a bar. He’d do it again if it meant another night of talking to a person like Edward Elric, of this he was certain. “I’d better call that Uber.”

“You live nearby?” Ed said, coming around the bar, thumbs hanging in the belt loops of his pants. Up close, the top of his head reached around Roy’s ears, but then Roy recalled the platforms of his boots and couldn’t help but smirk in delight.

“ _Hmm_? Apologies, yes, I do live relatively near. One of the Central U sponsored apartment complexes.”

“Really? Me too.” Ed’s eyes went comically wide for a moment before they narrowed to a glare, his chin jutting forth as if daring for a punch. “You’d better not go looking for me now that you know where I live. I really won’t hesitate to cut you down.”

“To your size or?”

Ed gaped, his laugh flabbergasted, like he was shocked even at himself as Roy smiled placidly. 

“You’re a snarky fuck, aren’t you, smart guy?”

“I could say ditto in this case, couldn’t I?”

“You could, but then I’d have to punch you for pointing out my very obvious flaws.”

“Flaws?” Roy said, leaning into Ed’s space undoubtedly more than was acceptable. The magnetism of his bright little beacon weakened him more than he was used to. “I haven’t seen any.”

“ _Holy_ – no.” Ed held up his hands between them, seemingly careful not to touch Roy’s chest, by the way he was looking at it in horror. “No, nope. You’re done now. Home, we’re going home now and I have your number and – ah, shit. Goodnight.”

Ed swept by him in a whirl of black and red and gold, Roy left with his lips parted in the wake of hoping to say something clever in parting. It was probably for the best, because Roy wasn’t doing so well with smooth tonight. Ed had practically – _no, literally, Roy, he literally ran from you._

Roy turned and watched Ed dash toward the employees only door with an off-kilter stride. It wasn’t until Ed had entirely disappeared that Roy was smiling like an absolute loon.

“Oh dear,” he murmured to himself, turning and seeing himself to the coat hold to retrieve his jacket.

This was a problem. There was no way Ed would ever call him.

Outside, the autumn air brought a pleasant, blustering bite to his cheeks as he flicked the collar of his leather jacket and tucked in his chin. His hair dusted before his eyes as he lowered his head to pull up the Uber app on his phone, distantly reminding him to get a haircut soon. He thought of Ed’s hair and how he’d never seen anything like it in his life – not anywhere but a magazine or model printed on a billboard. How must it look let down, voluptuous and thick and waterfalling over his hands like spun gold.

“Oh boy,” Roy said, to absolutely no one at all but the darkened sidewalk.

“Hey!” 

Roy startled, looked up to find himself staring at an obnoxiously long station wagon with wood paneling. And out the open window was Ed of all people, arm slung over the side, his face scrunched in a frown as he eyed Roy from the road. 

“Hello,” Roy said, clever man that he was. 

“You okay, Mustang? You said you live around here, but you look lost.”

“I’m… no, not lost exactly,” Roy said carefully. Looking around and noticed the back industrial road the strip club was hidden on was deserted, he walked up to the car and bent to meet Ed’s eyes. That was a mistake. Even under the dim lamplight, he was stunning. This was most certainly bad news for Roy, he was learning. “This is quite the car.”

“I’m not even going to begin unboxing that statement,” Ed said with a flat look. “But let’s just both acknowledge that the statement was multilayered in both awe and horror at the almost-literal boat I am driving.”

“Let’s,” Roy said. Again, he was very clearly absolutely on his top game tonight. 

“Look,” Ed said, his nose wrinkling with what must have been distaste at the words coming out of his own mouth. “You said you live in the apartment complexes, yeah?”

“Yes. Why?”

“If you promise not to turn my ears into earrings or some shit, I’ll give you a ride home.” Before Roy could reply, Ed rushed in with, “But make no mistake, buddy. I’ve got a knife in my boot and I’m not afraid to use it. You seem decent, if not totally full of yourself and your pretty face, so just get in and shut up.”

“Has anyone ever told you what a delightful young man you are?” Roy said, grinning anew. 

Ed’s reply was a very specific finger, which he used to gesture to the passenger’s seat. Delighted beyond belief, Roy acquiesced and soon found himself sitting in a wide, comfortable seat that indeed felt like being in an almost-literal boat. 

“What’s your complex?” Ed said, pausing at a deserted stop sign and seemingly waiting a full four seconds before going. Even with the deep night streets empty, he seemed to drive with extreme care. 

“As in narcissism or –”

“Ha-fucking-ha, congratulations, you’re an absolute wordsmith. I’ll drop you on the side of the road now.”

“I’m Spruce Complex,” Roy said with muted amusement, leaning back in the comfortable seat and shifting enough so he could watch the play of white and yellow street lights skitter and flick across that strong profile. Because he was watching, he saw the shock come and go from Ed’s face.

“What, seriously? I’m Redwood.”

“Directly beside you,” Roy said, wonder if he shouldn’t have been so scathing toward fate recently. 

“We share a goddamn parking lot. Are you sure you’re not a stalker?”

“Last time I checked my resume, stalker hadn’t yet made it on to my previous work experience.”

“That’s a shame,” Ed said. “A lot of marketable skills associated with stalking.”

Roy nodded soberly.

“Hard worker.”

“Dedication,” Ed said. “Organization, time management.”

“Self-motivation, willingness to put in extra time, trustworthy.”

“Trustworthy?” Ed said, turning at a stop light to aim an easy, wide smile in the yellow glow of a McDonalds sign. Roy’s mind wiped clean.

“I – what? Yes, trustworthy. You can always count on a stalker to be there for you.”

Ed’s laugh filled the car as he kept his eyes on the road, the curved corners of his mouth almost sinful in the way they called to Roy. The car smelled like a library, or books or school supplies, a comforting, familiar warmth. And what was perhaps Ed’s body wash, something fresh and sharp. The open windows whipped air around Ed’s head, his messy ponytail aflight in sparks of gold.

Roy’s hand twitched upon his thigh, desperate to touch as he forced himself to look away and stare straight ahead as their apartments came into view a few lights down. The massive building was shaped like a squared-off number three, with each prong having its own name, and two parking lots between the off-shoots. Redwood was the closest to the road and Spruce was the center complex. 

How Roy had never noticed Ed or this exceptionally long car was a cruel twist of, well, not fate. But he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the reoccurring phenomena of his unluckiness.

Ed came to a stop in front of the entryway to the Spruce building and outright sighed. To what end, Roy didn’t know, but he could only hope it wasn’t out of the effort he had to put into being around Roy. Ed wouldn’t be the first to think Roy was, well, too much. 

“Thank you for the ride,” Roy said, offering half a smile to Ed as he unclicked his seatbelt and patted down his pockets to make sure everything was there. His head still swam enough that he didn’t wholly trust himself not to lose anything or, even worse, say something wrong. He knew he’d best stick to uncomplicated statements that couldn’t be taken vastly wrong. He had a feeling Ed had a talent for reading into peoples’ words, even if he himself seemed straight forward and sharp as a sword through the gut. “And for the most refreshing conversation I’ve had in quite some time.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ed said slouching back into his seat, one arm still lounging out the window as he considered Roy with a frown, his hair a wild fray around his strong features. No one should have eyes like that, nor a mouth so expressive. “I’ve had a lot worse nights.”

Roy grinned.

“I feel as though I’ve been bestowed the highest of compliments.”

Ed snorted.

“Sure. Get out of my car now.”

“On my way,” Roy said quickly, slipping from the car and carefully shutting the door behind him. While the car seemed in good condition for its undeniable age, Roy couldn’t tell if he slammed the door a piece of it might fall right off. Best be careful with all things related to Edward Elric. 

Roy shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and dipped his head, hair catching on his eyelashes as he grinned into the open window of Ed’s car.

“Thank you, Ed. Truly. Even if you put that napkin through the wash, I’m glad to have had the benefit of your company tonight.”

Horror probably wasn’t the best word to describe the slow change on Ed’s face – but it went red all the same, his eyes widening as he swallowed and ran a hand through his unkempt bangs. 

“I –sure. Um, well, I’m just going to – go. Park. And I’ll – well – you have a good night.”

Roy’s teeth flashed, his vivid imagination allowing him the vision of simply reaching into the station wagon, wrapping Ed’s hair around his fist, and pulling him in for a mind-numbing kiss. 

“I will. Goodnight, Edward.”

“G-good –“

Ed’s car sped off before he could finish his own sentence.

Instead of watching Ed’s car meander the parking lot, because that would indeed be too creepy on his current scale of creeping and he had to stick with the claim that he wasn’t a stalker, Roy turned and promptly headed inside, his cheeks aching from smiling.

What a strange day with an exceptionally strange person. 

Roy had never wanted the night to end. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear from you! This is my first FMA fic, although I've been a fan since 2003. I've finally give in to my desperation to write them.


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